


Shortcomings

by Hoodoo



Series: The Bar at the End of the Universe [10]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol, Angsty then Sweet, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Derogatory Language, Embarrassment, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hooking up, Premature Ejaculation, Secrets, mentions of a brothel, the bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 03:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13755426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: Early on in your career as a bartender at The Bar, you meet a Rick who's not quite like the others.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> from tumblr anon: How about a Doofus Rick x female reader fic involving premature ejaculation and Rick being all embarrassed about it?

Your shift dragged on. Another night of pulling taps and making small talk to the various species that came into this bar. Being outside Federation jurisdiction meant you never knew who or what would show up.

It was a pretty good gig, truthfully. You liked the diversity of the clientele, and the pay was okay. You’d had to learn the exchange rate, and sometimes you were tipped in currency that you still had no idea about, but the owner of the place was always generous about exchanging alien money into something you could use.

The door to the place was kicked open, and you automatically glanced over. It was habit.

Three Ricks came in. If you squint, you can recognize at least two of them as having patronized the Bar before. 

When you first started working here, it took you a little time to realize that not all the Rick Sanchezes you saw and met weren’t the _same_ Rick Sanchez. It probably dawned on you the third or fourth time you’d taken one of them home, because as similar as they might appear, the differences in the bedroom were plain.

Interdimensional travel by the same person hadn’t been discussed as something that happened during your interview by the management; later you learned that was intentionally left out. They considered it a litmus test—more like a shitty inside joke—to see how potential employees could handle the situation. According to some of the other long-time personnel, most folks quit after having to deal with one Rick, let alone the possibility of an infinite number of them. 

You took it as a compliment that you hadn’t run.

As a matter of fact, you took it upon yourself to get to know Ricks better, which led your fellow staff members to joke about your “Rick-dar” and occasionally set you up with Ricks they personally knew.

If you gained a reputation as a slut, whatever. You also gained credit with the owner of the bar, because since you started working here, revenue had increased. That also meant increased salary for everyone else. Capitalism at its finest.

The uniforms these Ricks who had entered wore announced they were Council Guards. Off duty, this time; they were loud and obnoxious and were already a bit drunk. Their pristine uniforms were unbuttoned haphazardly and each of them looked disheveled.

They clomped in, loudly, slapping themselves on the backs and commending each other for a job well done, which, from their descriptions of it, was spending most of their paychecks at a neighboring system’s most elite whorehouse. They found themselves a table and settled in. One of them looked around and asked, 

“Where’d that shithead go?”

Before anyone could answer him, a new Rick entered.

You hadn’t been working here that long, and you hadn’t meet all Ricks, of course, but this one did stand out. Bowl hair cut instead of a spiky one, overbite, an expression that was softer versus piercing as he scanned the room for the Ricks who must be his friends—

“Hey Doofus! Over here!” 

He gave a lopsided grin that didn’t do anything to dispel his look of nervousness and made his way to the table of guffawing Guards. 

A waitress appeared at their table to take their order. Three of them were loud, and you were already collecting pint glasses and setting them in a line for their turn under the taps. You couldn’t hear the one they called Doofus’s order. Even the waitress leaned in closer to him. She shot you a look you couldn’t interpret, then walked over to the bar.

She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “The one wants to know if you can do a White Russian.”

You tap the bar for a second, going through what was needed and what you had available here. “Yeah, I can make that.”

She gave you a nod started to go back to the table, but you caught the Rick’s eye who obviously ordered the drink, smiled and nodded across the room to him. He looked startled, then flustered, then dropped his head.

One of the Ricks sitting next to him noticed his movements, craned his head around, and saw you. He crowed in laughter, and brought the other two Guards in on his hilarity.

You fill their pints, mix the cocktail, and had the waitress take the tray over.

The three Guards were obnoxious even for Ricks. They’re overly unruly, making bad jokes and ragging on each other, but the main butt of their ire seems to be the one who came into the bar last. They’re especially demeaning to him; even behind the bar you can hear the names they call him and the cruel jokes they make at his expense. 

You wonder why he sticks with them.

They order round after round. Doofus nurses his cocktail. It isn’t often you dread when a Rick approaches the bar, but with this group, you have no desire to have to make small talk with one of them. Luckily, they stick with asking the waitress for refills. 

Eventually, you do see that cocktail glass sitting empty. A hesitant motion is made for another, and when the waitress brings the order over to you, you ask her to have him come up himself. 

She relays the message. 

It sets off another howling and mocking from the other three, but self-consciously Doofus follows the request and makes his way over to the bar. 

He’s uncertain and stands awkwardly, seemingly unsure of whether to just stand there, or sit, or what. 

“Hey,” you greet him. “Have a seat.”

He mumbles something back and gracelessly climbs onto a stool.

“It looked like you could use a break from those guys, huh?”

He manages a small movement; more of a tic than a shrug.

“What’s your name?” you ask. 

“R-r-rick,” he mumbles, only slightly louder than before, when you couldn’t hear him. Then he clears his throat and says with a bit more conviction, “Rick J-19-Zeta-7.”

That was nothing like what you’d overheard from the group he came in with. 

“That’s a mouthful,” you say with a smile. “How about just Rick?”

He glances up at you, finally. It’s a little hard to determine exactly where he’s looking—his eyes are a bit wandering—but a smile crosses his face. 

“You were the one who ordered the White Russian?” You know the answer, but ask it anyway. He nods in response. “It didn’t seem like you liked it very much. Were my proportions off?”

The glance he gave you this time was borderline fearful. “No, no, no! It was good! It’s-it’s j-just that I . . . don’t like alcohol. That m-much.”

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so? I could have make you something different—“ you cut yourself off for a second, considering what to offer him. “How about just chocolate milk? Well, chocolate cream, because I don’t have straight up milk back here. And I’ll put it in the same cocktail glass so no one’ll know the difference.”

Now his eyes are very direct on you, and that smile gets broader.

“Y-you’d d-do that? For m-m-me?” he stutters, in awe.

You snort a little breath out your nose, to demonstrate what a minor thing it was. “Of course! Give me a second . . .”

You bustle around and make the drink. Plopping a cherry in it, you set it on a napkin in front of him. You also tell him he’s welcome to stay up here, at the bar with you, instead of having to return to his table. He’s suddenly more animated and engaging.

You’d had your suspicions, but discover he’s a really nice Rick. He interested in you, and how you ended up here—but makes it perfectly clear if you think he’s being too pushy about personal things you don’t have to tell him anything. He tells your about some of the special projects he’s been asked to do for the Council, which was why he was here now; they just finished an investigation and “the guys”—he waved his hand back over his shoulder to the rowdy group he’d been sitting with—were celebrating.

The question that’d been burning in your head blurted out. “Why are you with them? They aren’t very nice to you.”

Rick hung his head, and his stutter, which had gone away, returned. “I-I-I don’t go out mu-much,” he replied, with that tic-shrug again. “I thought it-it-it might be f-fun. Well, I mean, I d-didn’t-didn’t, uh, par-partake in the, uh …”

“Hmm,” you reply eloquently. “There are lots of options for fun. Brothels and bars don’t necessarily equal fun.”

“Th-that’s true. You’re very smart.”

“I don’t know about that,” you laugh, but he disagrees with you again. You touch his hand as you laugh, and he looks startled. 

“I, uh—excuse me,” he says abruptly, and scoots off his chair.

You worry that you’ve offended him, but he heads off in the direction of the toilet. 

The table of Ricks also sees this, and their comments about Zeta-7 aren’t any nicer. You can see they’re almost done with their latest round, and quickly pull three new glasses for them. Instead of calling the waitress over, you slip out from behind the bar and take them over yourself. 

The three of them crow drunkenly when you approach.

“Hell yeah—tableside service!”

“They told me you’re a natural redhead, right? Maybe you’ll let me verify that myself?”

“Hey baby, remember me?”

You set the drinks down for them and stand between the two you vaguely recognize. You turn towards the one who asked if you remembered him, and slip a hand down his cheek, then rest it on his shoulder. 

“I sure do, Rick.”

He laughed. “Of course you do, baby! Hard to forget that night we spent together, right?”

The other you dimly recall jumps in. “Seriously?! You know my dick’s bigger than his—don’t get us confused, baby!”

“Why don’t you have a seat right here,” the one you have your hand on offers, scooting back a little and gesturing to his lap, “and you can judge for yourself who’s got the bigger dick?”

They all laugh; you even chuckle with them.

“Why don’t you have a seat with us? We’ll buy you a drink, we’ll have fun, you can decide who you might want to take home tonight—“

“Or all of us, if you think you can handle it!” another interrupts. High fives all around.

“—instead of wasting your time with that shit-eater.”

You pause, like you’re thinking it over. “I thought you all shot your wads already? With the girls over at Glitterbomb’s? Plus you’ve been drinking pretty hard. You probably all have whiskey dicks at this point. ”

“Shit, baby, you don’t think we can’t get it up for you too?” a Rick said, in mock indignation

“I’m suspicious.”

That sets them off into another flurry of banter and bragging and offers to prove you wrong. That morphs into more derogatory comments about the Rick you’ve been talking to at the bar: he’s not worth your time, he eats shit, don’t be nice to him because he wouldn’t even know where to stick it in a woman—

You interrupt them with, “This round is on the house, boys. Yes, you’re welcome. And I think maybe you should get out of here after you’re done. The door’s right behind you.”

Their glee at the free drinks stumbles a little as their muddled brains feel around you telling them to get the hell out.

“Now wait a minute, baby—you’re not gonna kick us out, are you? We know your rep—you’re always thirsty for Rick dick!”

“I sure am,” you agree. “But not yours. Not tonight.”

“It’s _Doofus?_ You wanna fuck _that guy?_ Christ—“

“No,” you interrupt, even though the thought has sunk its claws into your mind. “But you’re all drunk, and being more asshole-ish than normal, and you need to leave.”

“Oh, come on, baby!”

You throw a glance back towards the bar; the Rick who’d been sitting there isn’t back yet. You lean down so only they can hear you. “Time’s running out. And the offer just got worse. If you ever want a shot at my pussy again, get the fuck out of this bar. Right now.”

Rick, the one you caressed, lifts his lips in a snarl. “You can’t throw of out of here. You’re nothing but a shitty bartender and a whore—“

_“He_ can throw you out,” you counter, nodding towards the bouncer, who’d been keeping a discreet eye on the situation ever since you approached them. “And you don’t pay me. I’m not a whore. I’m a slut—for Rick dick, like you so articulately put it—and you’re all sluts for me too. Don’t forget _that.”_

He wants to argue, you can tell. Before he can, however, you lean in close to him, whispering in his ear, 

“You might be a big man in the Guard, but I know you always want to watch cartoons after fucking, and cry during Disney movies. You want everyone to know that, lover?”

He sputters and you turn to the other one you think you know. You repeat getting close to him to say for his benefit only, 

“You don’t have the biggest dick. As a matter of fact, you’re the one who used the cock sheath to increase your size, right? So I wouldn’t be disappointed?”

Rick flushes and doesn’t even try to respond to you.

The third Rick, seeing the reactions of his cohorts, looks alarmed when you move around the table to his side. For the third time you bend over, and run a finger on the polished Citadel badge pinned to his chest.

“And you . . . maybe in the future you’d like a chance to tap my ass, hmm? Well, Rick dimension N-771,” you say, gently flipping the insignia and reading the designation etched on the back of it, “maybe you ought to help your fellow Ricks out of here. Otherwise, you’re never getting into my pants.”

You smile at him and kiss him right on the lips. You let it linger for almost too long—you can tell he’s going to grab you or shove his tongue into your mouth—and step back before either of them happens. 

He sits very still for a moment, then shakes his head and says,

“Come on, assholes, let’s go.”

There’s continued grumbling—more for show than anything—but the three of them scrape their chairs back and stand up.

“Tab’s still open,” you say brightly. 

That earns you harsher complaints, but the bouncer slinks closer too. Handfuls of money are tossed to the table as they turn away.

“Thanks, Rick! Thank you! See you soon!” you chirp at their backs. 

Disney Rick flips you off. You blow a kiss back to him, and they’re gone. 

The bouncer smirks in your direction, shaking his head, and you scuttle back behind the bar, leaving the mess on the table. You won’t take any of the extra cash they left, you decide; the waitress can keep it all. 

Rick returns, and settles back onto the stool.

“Hey,” you tell him, “those guys had to leave.”

“They did?” he squeaks, twisting around to see for himself the now-empty table. He lets out a sigh that you can’t tell is relieved or upset. “At least I have my own portal gun. It’s not due back at the Citadel until mid-morning.”

“Oh?” you ask, politely. “Then why don’t you stick around a little longer and keep me company?”

_tbc..._


	2. Chapter 2

Rick does stay at the bar. You learn more about him: his lack of family, his assigned Morty, his interests that are far outside the norm for a typical Rick, like baking and horticulture. His stammer becomes non-existent the more animated he gets, the more interest you take in him. He’s all smiles and compliments.

He got much more comfortable with you laying a hand on him. 

After last call, his face falls and he mumbles something about how he should probably leave. You catch his sleeve. 

“You can stay, if you want. If you don’t mind watching me wash up everything.”

He nods, eagerly, and regales you with a story about a different investigation he’d assisted with.

Finally, though, everyone has left and all your work is done. Rick looks around and seems to realize all the patrons are gone; only a skeleton crew of staff have remained, and they’re packing up to leave too. 

“I-I-I’m sorry I—I didn’t mean to keep y-you so long,” he apologizes. 

You take his glass, the last of the evening, and rinse it but because the dishwasher is already full, you leave it in the sink. 

“It’s okay,” you assure him.

He doesn’t look convinced. As a matter of fact, he looks like he wants to cut and run. A blush is creeping up his neck, and once again he seems to have a hard time looking at you. You also didn’t miss the return of his stutter. 

“Wo-would you l-like t-to . . . can I t-take you f-f-for a coffee, or some-something? You’re so-so-so nice, and I l-like talking to you—would you, would you like to come back, would you like to come back to . . . m-m-my p-place?”

It’s the sweetest offer you’d ever had from a Rick, and it makes you smile. Glancing at you, he smiles too, before dropping his gaze again. You cover the top of his hand with your own—you can feel the tremble in it—to let him down easy.

“Rick, that’s a very nice invitation.” He perks up a little. “But I can’t do that. I have a rule not to go to a Rick’s place.”

That perkiness sagged, like a quickly deflating balloon. His reply is dejected. “I-I understand. That’s a-it’s a good rule, t-too, I kn-know how Ri-Ricks can be—“

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t come to my place,” you interrupt him.

It takes a moment for him to understand. You watch as the comprehension lights up his face. 

“R-really?”

You smile and nod, and the grin that erupts on his face is bright.

⁂

At home, in your bedroom, he’s shy and hesitant. You expected it, and don’t push him. It has been a long time since you’ve had a considerate Rick. This one is gentle and accommodating, and his kisses, once he got over the surprise of having your tongue in his mouth, are slow and deep, as if you’re a glass of water and he’s been dying of thirst. 

Just when he’s relaxed and you move to actual disrobing, he’s suddenly fumble-fingered and shaky again. He doesn’t seem to want to stop, though—you make very sure of that—so you help untangle him from his clothes. 

He sits on the bed while you quickly, without fanfare, strip naked too. 

Rick’s breath catches in his throat as you pull your shirt off, and wriggle your way out of your jeans. You stand in front of him, fully nude, and suddenly he can barely look at you again. 

“Rick? Are you okay?” you ask him as you move in closer, bumping his knees apart so you can stand between his legs. 

“Y-y-yes,” he stutters. His hands visibly shake as they touch your hips. His gaze darts up and locks on yours with surprising intensity. “You’re very-you’re so pretty . . .”

“Thank you!”

Now his eyes flick down you again. “I don’t want—I don’t want y-you to be . . . disappointed . . .”

“We can go slow, okay? It’s been good for me so far. Has it been good for you?”

You think you know the answer to your question; he’d gotten eager during the kissing and even now his erection juts from him. A tiny bead of pre-come glistens at the tip. Surprisingly, he hasn’t been shy about that.

“Yes. Y-yes it has,” Rick tells you.

“Good! Then what if I just—“

You don’t complete your sentence. Instead you demonstrate what you want to do: Kiss him again, then start nibbling down his neck, to his thin chest, detour to his waist to nip at it and leave a red mark, then back to his stomach, and further down, alternating kissing, nipping, and licking as you go. 

By the time you’re using your tongue to wet the thin line of hair from his navel to his pubic bone, he’s gasping. From the corner of your eye you can see he’s gripping your sheets and his knuckles are white. 

His cock leaves a wet trail on the side of your cheek as you maneuver to settle on your knees, before him.

“Okay, Rick?” you confirm, looking up at him.

“Uh-huh, I-I-I mean, y-yes— _oh!”_

At his first sound of his agreement you lick up one side of his shaft, then come up over the top and swallow his cock. You apply some suction, just to tease, and know it worked by the strangled sound he makes. 

Your tongue swirls around him as you pull back up, then you use the softer underside of your tongue to flick over his head, before dropping back down to take him in again. 

Above you, Rick’s noises take on a decidedly much more urgent tone, and one hand grabs your shoulder tightly. His hips jolt upward, a little. 

He comes in your mouth. 

“Oh-oh-oh _no,”_ he cries out, his voice cracking with a mix of ecstasy and dismay.

You don’t move, keeping your mouth tight around him as he finishes. When his grip on you loosens, when his muscles start to unclench, and when his cock stops throbbing between your lips, you gently release him. 

He’s still flushed and now panting, and looks mortified.

“I am so sorry!” he exclaims. He’s slammed his eyes shut as if to keep from seeing the disappointment or horror on your face. “I didn’t mean to—I just—I am so sorry!”

You get to your feet and grab a tissue from the box by the bed. 

“Rick, it’s okay,” you assure him, pressing the tissue into his hand as you sit close to him on the bed. 

Keeping his eyes closed, he dabs at the residual come dribbling from him. He’s shaking his head.

“Rick, look at me,” you order. 

Despondently, he obeys. Tears have welled in his eyes, magnifying the pretty blue of them. 

“It is okay,” you tell him again. “I promise.”

“I wanted to make you feel good, and-and this . . . ugh! So stupid—“

“Knock that off!” you say, in the same tone as when you told him to open his eyes. “You’re not stupid. I’m not upset.”

He looks like he wants to disagree again, like he wants to degrade himself again, but you don’t let him.

You grab his free hand and kiss his palm.

“I _promise,_ Rick. It is okay.”

He nods slowly. He wipes the back of his hand against his eyes and manages to look at you again.

“Can I . . . d-do something for you?” he whispers. “Can I—I mean, I can use—I have my-my fingers and, and m-my mouth . . .”

“Will you kiss me again, and stay the rest of the night?” you counter. It isn’t often a Rick consents to actually sleep with you.

“Yes! Of course!” he agrees.

You ignore the look of relief that crosses his face. You can imagine that he’s thinking he’d be piss-poor at pleasuring you, and you’d expect more from him than he’d be able to give if you had agreed to his offer. But it’s mostly that you’re just tired, now, and sleep is more appealing than sex at the moment. 

Rick helps you reposition the sheets and blankets on the bed, and you both snuggle under them. If he’s still embarrassed at his subpar performance, he at least hides it well giving you a few more long, sultry kisses, and holding you while you drift to sleep. 

_tbc..._


	3. Chapter 3

You wake up the next morning, stretching without opening your eyes. Your arm and leg encounter no one else on the mattress. You open your eyes. No one else in the bedroom. No extra clothes on the floor. 

You guessed all Ricks had an innate instinct to get the hell out after they got off, no matter how nice they seemed.

Groaning, you wonder if you can get back to sleep.

Then there’s a noise from another room. Someone’s digging through your stuff. In the kitchen, it sounds like—

You freeze and wonder what you should do. You’ve never had an intruder. You’ve never really even thought about what you should do—you deliberately chose an apartment on a higher level, and had multiple locks on your door, all in the name of safety—

Suddenly, there’s the distinct sound of frying. Seconds after that the smell of bacon wafted through the air. Your blender came to life—wait, you own a blender? You scramble out of bed, throw on a robe, and hurry into the kitchen. 

Rick is standing at your counter, fully dressed, blending something. Bacon’s sizzling, another skillet is cooking something else, and the toaster popped up. 

You’re not quite sure what to think.

Rick turns back to the stove, spatula in hand, and sees you standing there, agog. 

“Oh! You’re up!” he grins. “Give me another-another minute or two, and breakfast is served!”

There had never been a Rick who’s cooked you breakfast, even if he spent the entire rest of the night. You take a seat, and Rick plates everything for you and brings it to the table. 

“I didn’t know how you l-liked your eggs, so it’s just a, a cheese omelet with herbs,” he tells you, semi-apologetically. “And this is strawberry, cantaloupe, and cucumber aquas fresca! I hope you like it!”

“I didn’t know I had all these ingredients . . .?” you say hesitantly. Your brain feels dull. 

“I, well, I-I got them,” he admits with a shy grin. “I got them and brought them back for-for you. Eat up! I’ve got a plate here, too—“

He brings his own back to the table and you dig in. It’s delicious. 

“And I installed a portal dampener to encompass your apartment. Your r-r-really don’t want random Ricks showing up here, you know?” he continues, like what he’s saying is common sense. Which it completely is, now that you think about it. “But-but . . . I, uh. I put a remote on it, so you can control when it’s on or off. So if you do want to bring somebody home . . .”

He lets that insinuation drift off, but doesn’t seem judgmental about it. 

“ . . . I hope that’s okay?” he finishes quietly. He seems unnerved by your silence. 

“No. I mean, yes! Yes it’s okay!” you exclaim. “It’s more than okay! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” he says, sincerely. 

You continue to eat and drink; that fruit drink is amazing, and you tell him so. You also tell him that you’ve never had a Rick be so thoughtful as to think about your safety—

Embarrassment makes bright red spots high on his cheeks and he hushes you.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” he replies, in a voice more resigned than not. “You’re a n-nice person. And you need to-to be safe. I wouldn’t want any-anything to happen to you . . .”

You put your hand on his, and tell him again how thankful you are, and that he’s a nice person too.

Rick licks his lips at the praise. Then, tentatively, he asks if he can take you back to bed, to make up for how poorly he did last night? If not, he understood, it was completely up to you but he could see how you wouldn’t want to hold out hopes only to be disappointed again, because he knew he wasn’t the greatest Rick in any case but when it came to being physical with a woman he was probably the absolute worst—

You don’t let him continue his critical self-assessment. You squeeze his hand and haul him up from the table, and pull him back to your bed. 

He’s still a tiny bit hesitant. At first. You don’t know if it’s because he feels like he can last longer since he came so quickly before, or if it was because you truly enjoyed his cooking, or if it’s because you didn’t further humiliate him by being upset or kicking him out. Now he’s still attentive, lavishing kisses and adoration on you, giving you those deep, breath-stealing kisses, tickling your neck, pinching with just the right amount of pressure to bring your nipples to attention and finally slipping his hand between your legs—

You gasp at the feather-light touches he strokes you with. It occurs to you later, when your mind isn’t overwhelmed by bliss, that he was learning—quickly learning—what you liked best. 

Rick’s fingers explored you, made you cry out, and brought you to the edge of orgasm. Then he backed you away from it, and put his mouth on your pussy to demonstrate what he’d gleaned from your moans and bodily movements. 

Your climax was long and drawn-out, because he teased you into another one with his tongue when you started coming down from the first. 

Then, smiling all the while, he made love to you in unhurried care. His strokes were smooth, not the choppy desperation you’d come to expect from most Ricks. He stayed deep inside you for excruciatingly long moments, making an ache inside you for more, before pulling out again. 

He moaned too, and bit his lip, but the determination on his face to have you orgasm again was evident. You let yourself go under his attentions, and shuddered through a third, crying out his name and grasping at him as you did.

Rick panted and didn’t move as you came back to earth again. When you were finally able to focus on him, he smiled.

“What can I—“ you rasp out. Your throat was dry, so you swallow and try again. “What can I do for you? Please, Rick—“

For an answer, he lifts his hips and pulls out of you completely. You gasp at the loss. 

“Will you be on top of me?” he asks.

You shuffle out from under him and wait for him to lay back. This is unexpected too; most Ricks prefer to be in charge, so you being on top isn’t common. Truthfully, it doesn’t surprise you that he’s okay with it. 

You straddle him, grasp his cock and line him up, then sink fully onto him. Rick hisses a moan as you do; you laugh a little at the pleasure that zips through your core again. 

He’s been gentle, but you can’t help but thrust hard against him, rocking your pelvis in a pace that was much snappier than his. He doesn’t complain. He throws his head back and arches under you, crying out at the heavy sensations you milk from him. 

Even through all that, he licks a thumb and slips it between the two of you, putting heavy pressure on your clit.

The immediate pleasure from disrupts your rhythm and you push down into it. The combination of it plus seated on his cock you makes you come again, crying out wordlessly. 

That seemed to be enough for him too. Rick clutches your thigh with his free hand and his hips make the same jolt as they did the night before, and he comes too, ejaculating deep inside you.

You’re both spent. Sweating and shaky, you peel yourself off him and ease back onto the bed. 

“Th-that was . . . better,” he says, panting. 

“That was _amazing,”_ you correct.

He chuckles, and blushes.

You’d want him to stay, but he tells you he has to leave before you can even voice your desire. Before he goes, he shows you how the remote for the portal dampener works. It’s small enough to fit on a keyring, and looks like a car fob, so it shouldn’t raise any suspicions or look like something anyone would want to steal. 

Finally, Rick notices the time. He laments he can’t clean the kitchen, but his portal gun is on an automatic timer to return to the Citadel. If he’s not there, it’ll be trouble. 

You thank him again and again, and tell him he’s welcome back to the Bar—or here, at your apartment—anytime. With true sincerity, you tell him he’s the nicest Rick you’ve ever met. 

He lights up at that. He tells you you’re a good person too, that he will never forget the time he spent with you, and that maybe he’ll take you up on that offer sometime. He also tells you to be safe, and then he really has to go. 

You watch him raise a portal in your bedroom wall. 

“Make sure to turn on the dampener after I leave!” he lectures. 

You promise you will.

Rick smiles at you again, then steps through and disappears.

Sitting on your bed, happy but melancholy at the same time, you do as he asked and press the button to protect yourself. 

_fin._


End file.
